


A Pile of Garbage

by metrophobic



Category: South Park
Genre: Dark Humor, Everything that ends up here is probably really stupid, Fluff, M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Mishaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: Just trash for the trash collectors. Ficlets, drabbles, etc. that don't fit anywhere else but don't deserve to be their own works, either. On account of being garbage and all.





	1. Mission: Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde has a little problem.

Tweek always had trouble sleeping.

That was just a constant in their lives. They’ve long-since gotten used to it. He’d toss and turn and squirm; sometimes Craig was fortunate enough to sleep right through it. _Sometimes._ But sometimes was only that. That was why he cherished moments like these, when he actually managed to get him to drift off, having successfully employed methods like gentle massages, reading from a textbook in a low voice--the only times Craig could ever be grateful for boring someone to sleep--or… well, fucking him into exhaustion. Which was what happened tonight.

He always looked so sweet when he slept like this, his face soft and serene, the quiet sound of his breathing. It never failed in making Craig want to do something really gay like kiss his forehead or gently tuck his hair behind his ear, but he had to stop himself. Even when Tweek appeared to have fallen into a deep slumber where no nightmares could touch him, the smallest brush of the corporeal world would roughly jerk him back into this plane of reality and he’d jolt awake like a startled animal. Craig found that out the hard way.

That was why when his phone buzzed against his nightstand, long and drawn-out, Craig felt a fury that was like no other, a slow boil that started in his chest and dropped all the way into his stomach. He snatched up the phone and immediately tapped the _Decline_ button. The name on the screen read **Clyde Donovan**.

 _Clyde_ , of all people-- at 2:17 in the fucking morning! 

Craig cast a furtive glance in Tweek’s direction. Luckily for them both, Craig seemed to have caught the phone in time, because Tweek only stirred slightly: a little frown creased between his golden eyebrows, a quick intake of breath-- but then he settled. The phone still sat in Craig’s hand, and then he felt it buzz again. 

Clyde was calling... _again._

Craig also hit _Decline_ again.

 _Fuck_ **_off_** _, Clyde._ Couldn’t he go a fucking _night_ without needing Craig’s shoulder to cry on? He never called this late! This was over the top. He’d crossed the line. Craig was done with him for good.

He was also calling a third time.

Wait, no-- short buzzes. Short, but rapid-fire, one after the other. Craig could read their previews right on his phone’s lock screen.

_CRAIG HELP_

_EMERGENCY!!!!!_

_HELP ME PLEASE_

_IM SCARED_

_ANSWER THE PHONE_

_PPPPLLLLLEEEAAASSSEEE_

_CRAIG!!!!!_  

He forced back the sigh of frustration that threatened to wind up through his throat, and carefully climbed out of bed, not once taking his eyes off Tweek’s sleeping form. Not until his feet touched the carpeted floor and he padded quietly into the hallway. There was a slight chill in the difference between the warmth, softness of his bed, Tweek’s body-- and being out _here_ , naked and alone. Goosebumps prickled along Craig’s arms and he set his mouth in a grim line before touching the _Call_ button and bringing it to his ear, that damned cold slab of a phone.

The first ring didn’t even sound to completion before Clyde’s voice came over the receiver, thick and thrice as nasal and _loud._

“ _Craaaiiig,_ ” he sobbed over the line. “ _Oh fuck, oh fuuuck!_ ” Craig briefly closed his eyes.

“What, Clyde,” he asked, his voice quiet but flat. “Why are you calling me at 2:17 in the morning.” At that point, it was probably more like 2:23, but who was counting? Every minute that ticked by was another minute lost to this nonsense, nonsense that had taken precedence over his partner, and Craig just wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

“ _Oh god,_ ” Clyde wailed out. “ _Oh god, oh god, it’s the woo-oorst! I just wanted to try something new and I like to experiment but it doesn’t mean I’m gay I was just **experimenting** but this suuu-uuuucks! _”

“Clyde,” Craig stated, devoid of any sympathy whatsoever, “stop crying.”

To Clyde’s credit, he seemed to. After a few more sobs and a hiccup or two, he seemed to be making a genuine effort to reign it in. “ _Cuh-- Craig,_ ” he sniffled. “ _I’m not gay._ ” 

“Yes, we established that,” replied Craig. “What we haven’t established is why you’re calling me at 2:30 in the morning to tell me this.”

“ _Because,_ ” Clyde whined, his voice tight, like he was about to launch into a wave of fresh tears. “ _Beeecaaaause there’s a dildo stuck up my ass and it won’t come oooout!_ ”

Silence filled the empty hallway. It was so quiet, in fact, that Craig thought he heard the rustle of bedsheets. “Well,” he finally said, “you woke up Tweek. Nice going.”

“ _But I don’t know what to do!_ ” Clyde blubbered. “ _What do I dooo?!_ ”

“How am I supposed to know,” said Craig. “Just go take a shit.”

“ _I already_ ** _tried_** _that!_ ” wailed Clyde. “ _It didn’t wooork!_ _What do you do when this happens?!_ ”

Was Clyde actually fucking serious? “What are you even talking about,” Craig asked flatly.

“ _Since you’re actually gaaay! Which I’m not! I’m not gay, Craig! So I don’t know what to do, and it’s gonna be stuck up my ass forever, I’ll have to get_ **_another_ ** _colostomy_ **_again_ ** _and my life is gonna be the_ **_wooorst!_ ** _”_

Craig didn’t even pay attention to most of that. “Since I’m gay,” he echoed, incredulous, “I know what it feels like to get a vibrator stuck in my rectum.”

“ _Well, yeah!_ ” Clyde sniffled so loud that Craig could practically hear the snot being sucked back down into his throat. It was a pretty gross sound. “ _You guys know all about this stuff! Just tell me what to do when this happens to you! Pleaaase!_ ”

“This never happens to me,” Craig said coldly, “or him.” And with that, he ended the call.

Craig didn’t even know what to think of what had just transpired. In fact, it was probably best that he just didn’t dignify it with any further acknowledgement. Like, at all. So that was that, and Craig was already working to wipe the memory from his brain when he slipped back into the bedroom he shared with his boyfriend.

Tweek was still lying in bed, so Craig felt a brief flash of hope that maybe, just maybe he hadn’t been woken up after all-- but then as Craig drew closer, Tweek made a little noise in his throat and stretched. “Craig…?” he murmured with a yawn.

Craig slipped back into bed and put an arm around him. At least he could finally kiss Tweek’s forehead without worry, so he did. “Go back to sleep, honey,” he said gently.

“Mmm.” Tweek snuggled against his side. “ _Nn._  I heard crying.”

“It was just Clyde being dumb,” Craig said with a roll of his eyes and a wave of the hand. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“But,” Tweek insisted quietly, “he sounded really upset.”

“He needs to learn how to deal with his problems on his own,” said Craig. “He can’t come running to me every time he stubs his toe. Besides, he’s an asshole and I hate him.”

“Okay, Craig,” Tweek said around the edges of a short laugh, and pressed further, his tone affectionate yet chiding: “what happened?”

“Ugh.” Craig gave up. “Fine. He got a sex toy stuck up his ass, and then tried to turn it around on me for actually being gay.” It was inaccurate, not to mention petulant, but Craig didn’t give a fuck. Clyde was a dick.

Tweek raised his eyebrows, and turned to look up at Craig with wide eyes. “Wait, what do you mean, he got a toy stuck up his ass?” 

“I mean exactly that. And then he insinuated that we did that all the time, because we’re gay together. So I hung up.”

Tweek didn’t even seem to notice the actual _important_ part of Craig’s statement. “ _Craig!_ ” he yelped.

“What.”

“You _hung up_ on him?!”

“Because he’s a dick,” Craig stated. It was a perfectly logical, reasonable explanation. Tweek made one of his frustrated noises and pulled away from him.

“He called because he wanted _your_ help, jerk!”

“Wow,” said Craig. “Whose side are you even on?”

“ _Grrh!_ ” Tweek threw his hands up in the air as he got out of bed entirely. “I’m not on anyone’s _side!_ You’re impossible.” He walked over to the dresser and yanked open a couple drawers before pulling some clothes out. Craig frowned.

“Why are you getting dressed, dude, it’s like 2:40 in the morning.”

“Because! _Agh!_ ” Tweek spoke through his t-shirt as he yanked it down over his head. “Clyde’s my _friend!_ ”

“So what’re you gonna do,” Craig retorted, still buck naked and in their bed. Where they actually _belonged._ “Drive out to his house in the middle of the night and pull it out for him?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Tweek shouted back at him. Then he seemed to realize what Craig actually said, and quickly added, “Not… not _that_ , just… god! You know what I mean! He needs to go to the emergency room!”

“That’s melodramatic,” Craig quipped. “Clyde is perfectly capable of driving himself.”

Tweek made a snarling noise in his throat. “You can be a real _prick_ sometimes, you know that, _Craig?!_ ” he growled through clenched teeth as he pulled on his socks. “Clyde’s probably _terrified_ , not to mention completely _mortified_ , and you just shut him down?! After he trusted you enough to turn to you?! _Gah!_ I can’t believe you!”

“Well,” Craig started, and then stopped, because he didn’t know what to say to that. Damn it, Tweek was doing that thing again-- when he got all pissed off, which was more adorable than anything else, but at the same time, he was also _actually_ the one being rational in the situation and that was making Craig _feel bad._ Craig sighed through his nose. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”

“No _shit_ I’m right!” Tweek was fully dressed, and he headed for the bedroom door, but paused at the foot of their bed. “So if _you_ won’t go help one of your _closest friends_ , then I _will!_ ”

“No, babe, wait.” Craig pushed the sheets back and rose to his feet. “We’ll both go.”

 

* * *

 

It was Tweek who drove them there. Craig was supposed to sit in the back seat with his friend and comfort him, but he was shitty at comforting anyone who wasn’t Tweek, because his methods of comforting Tweek weren’t things that translated into platonic relationships. He wasn’t going to cuddle Clyde or stroke his hair or rub his back. The very thought repulsed him, and besides, Craig was still pissed off that Clyde insulted them like that. 

He couldn’t believe that Tweek didn’t even care. What Clyde said on the phone was so unabashedly _rude_ and completely uncalled for. Just because they were _gay_ didn’t mean they were disgusting, naive idiots who didn’t know what they were doing. They had amazing sex, like, _all the time_ and nothing _ever_ went wrong. It was just so rude and offensive that Clyde would act like this was something that happened to all gay people. Craig couldn’t believe he would stoop that low.

So, Craig sat in the backseat next to Clyde, but he had his arms crossed, and he kept his eyes firmly on the road. Clyde was sniffling, but he seemed to have otherwise calmed down, at any rate.

“Who keeps texting you?” Tweek asked from the front seat. He was a very careful driver. It was the only way he could overcome his anxiety on the road.

“No one’s texting me,” said Craig.

“ _Nnnn_ , I keep hearing this buzzing…”

Clyde started to sob again. It was a very awkward and silent car ride the rest of the way.

When they arrived, his tears had dried again. They walked up to the front desk together, and Clyde suddenly slammed his palm down on the counter. He was clearly filled with some kind of fierce determination. The receptionist didn’t even look startled. Tweek was, though, and he jerked in place with a squeal.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking up from her nail file. Clyde looked her dead in the eye. He had the most serious expression that Craig had ever seen on him in his life. It was kind of terrifying.

“I don’t know any other way to tell you this,” Clyde stated, “so I’ll just say it. I have a vibrating dildo in my ass.”

“Fill out this form,” said the receptionist.

“Is it, um…” Tweek fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he leaned in to whisper something to Clyde. Clyde squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Craig didn’t know what Tweek asked him, but he had a pretty good idea, and decided he didn’t want to find out.

“Should… should we wait for him?” Tweek asked when the nurse arrived to retrieve Clyde.

“Oh no, honey,” she said. “Don’t worry, your friend will be fine. It’s just going to take a while.” She smiled warmly and added, “he’s the second one tonight.”

“ _What?!_ ” Tweek barked out. Craig snorted back a laugh.

“Great,” he said. “Wonder if it’s someone I know.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that,” said the nurse. “Confidentiality. Come on, sweetie.” Clyde was clearly trying to act like he was cool with all this, like this was just something funny to tell his frat bros or whatever kind of people he hung out with at university, but Craig saw him grab the nurse’s hand when they were a little further away-- as if he didn’t want anyone to see it.

“ _Oooh_ ,” Craig heard the call of a distant voice. It echoed in the corridor. “ _Jesus_ **_Christ!_ ** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a true story, told by some guy on Twitter.


	2. Hello Kitty Butt Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could have won the lottery.” Craig presses his hands over his eyes. “I could have been at the right place at the right time for something awesome. But no. This is how it ends. This is the thing I get by chance.”
> 
> “That’s why we keep our legs closed until marriage, honey. Do you know who the father is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this like 2.5 years ago. It was a prompt. There is implied mpreg, though I'm mostly just taking the piss out of it.
> 
> I have no idea what to call this monstrosity.

When you’re an antisocial douchebag who’s taken to using your socialite best-friend-turned-gay-lover as a crutch for interacting with the outside world, it’s quite the daunting task to fill in the desolate places left behind after the relationship inevitably crumbles.  Of course, Craig wasn’t ready to admit he had any _part_ in the relationship falling apart; when he came home one afternoon to find Clyde on their bed fucking doggy-style the slutty brunette who lived three units down the hall, it was easy to pinpoint all of their shared grievances on that single monumental fuck-up.

“I am the victim in all this,” Craig shouted as Clyde, crocodile tears dripping down his nose, scrambled around to cover his fat ass in shame.  “Get the fuck out of my house!”  He picked up a pair of khakis off the floor and chucked them at his partner’s head.  “Here, don’t jostle your bag or anything.  I’m tired of cleaning up after your shit.”  He was really fucking proud of himself for that one.

Their skanky neighbour, Hilary or Heidi or some shit, sat on the bed watching all of this like she’d just tuned into her favourite soap.  She didn’t look at all embarrassed to be caught, having fluidly pulled her t-shirt and apple-bottom jeans back on while Craig was caught up in yelling at his (ex-)boyfriend.  When Craig rounded in on her, she stood to her feet, arms crossed over her chest.  “Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that,” she said coolly in the face of his misogynistic insults, flipping her hair over one shoulder and flouncing from the room.

Five weeks later, Craig still isn’t spending his evenings after work on anything but sitting broken on the sofa, spooning through pints of fat-free-gluten-free frozen yogurt in his racecar pajamas while digesting _Hamtarou_ marathons.  He is twenty-two years old.

Sometimes he has his laptop with him.  He tried at one point to mingle with other fellow mature, worldly fans of chubby Japanese cartoon hamsters, but the forums he frequented were rife with fan fiction that consisted mostly of humanizing said hamsters and pairing them off with one another, and it got old very fast.  Very few of the denizens in these online places actually wanted to discuss the emotional intricacies of the show, and those conversations barely went anywhere as-is.  No one else viewed the show through the same lens.  No one else possessed the wit or the knowledge to examine it with the critical eye that he held.

But tonight.  Tonight is going to be different.  Tonight he is going to grow up, be a man, and do what any other self-sabotaging introverted bachelor in his predicament would do during this modern technological age of worldwide commerce and communication: peruse hookup websites.

 _This is disgusting_ , Craig thinks to himself, staring at his boring profile four hours later with a scattered inbox of messages ranging from mildly creepy to nauseating, all of them without promise.  One guy in particular had written an entire story in explicit, borderline-offensive detail of what he’d like to do to Craig, peppered with stupid descriptors like “milk choclat[sic] nipples” (all of Craig’s shots were fully clothed) and “mocha skin”.  To call it purple prose would have been a stretch.  Craig’s considering fucking him anyway, because even though he’s almost old enough to be his father, with thinning hair and a boring generic white-guy body, he kind of looks like how he’d pictured Clyde at that age.  He also has the paunch Clyde has now.  Maybe he can fuck Craig from behind, and with his soft gut pressing against Craig’s back while he grunts unattractively Craig can sort of pretend it _is_ Clyde.

That’s actually exactly what happens.

“So where are you actually from,” mild-mannered John asks at some point, after his dick’s gone soft and he’s pulling his clothes back on.  Neither of them have gotten off.  This is actually ending because of erectile dysfunction; this is actually a thing that is happening in Craig’s life right now.  Craig is angry and mortified, and he wants this ridiculous charade to end as quickly and painlessly as possible.  Who the fuck makes pillow talk when they’re getting dressed to leave, anyway?.

“Get out,” he says tersely, not even bothering to dress himself, just sitting there with the sheet pulled over his half-hard dick and wishing desperately that he smoked.  After the guy leaves he pitifully jerks off, feeling hollow when he realizes he’s starting to forget what Clyde’s dick in his ass actually felt like.  Craig comes all over his flat stomach, takes an obligatory shower and lets the emotional remnants of this despairingly pathetic night swirl down the drain.

 

* * *

 

 _Cheer up_ , says Token when he’s texting him five weeks later.  Token, who had become Craig’s best friend after Clyde graduated to live-in boyfriend.  Token, who is also good friends with Clyde, and inevitably pulled into the middle of all their bullshit.  Craig’s just grateful Clyde isn’t crashing on Token’s couch.   _You need to get out there.  Find a hobby.  Do something._

 _Yeah well, it’s not that fucking easy,_ Craig angrily replies.

_Sorry man.  You’re not the only one who’s gone through a breakup before, you know._

Token’s right, of course, but Craig isn’t in the mood to dignify that with an answer.  He sets the phone down beside him and folds his arms under his head, shutting his eyes.   _Come to Tracks with me on Friday_ , he finds himself proposing ten minutes later, refusing to admit the statement for what it truly is--pathetic begging--and instead relying on Token’s good nature to see him through his quarter-life crisis.  Clyde had always gone with him before, but that’s not happening anymore.   _I don’t like clubbing alone._

_You know I’m straight, right?_

 

* * *

 

“It’s on me.”  Craig feigns a smile as he places the fiver on the counter, much too quick before the blond twink he’s chatting up can say anything in protest.  Token, who had begrudgingly agreed to come along as his heterosexual-and-secure wingman, sits two seats to the left of him, engaged in what seems to be a pretty riveting conversation with a curvaceous drag-queen.  It’s not that he’s struck out before-- but Craig’s lean musculature, dark features and lovely complexion had left him the target of one-too-many bears, and he’s just not in the mood to reminisce about Clyde again.  Not tonight.

“Gosh,” says his newest companion, dressed in skinny jeans and a white _Hello Kitty_ t-shirt that covers his abs but shows off his nipples, “you’re nice.  Thanks, fella!”  There’s a Southern drawl to his voice that holds an almost lilting quality to it, and Craig can see through the transparent pink window on his chest that one of his nipples is pierced.  He is absolutely the opposite of everything Craig ever wanted in another man and it’s kind of making Craig’s dick a little hard, most likely because he’s also a little drunk and feeling a lot adventurous.

Which makes it a good thing, then, that it’s actually this guy who proposes they get out of here after nearly an hour of strained conversation that’s left him a semi-permanent fixture on Craig’s arm.  He’s affectionate.   _Really_ affectionate.  It’s actually kind of disgusting, but Craig is happy to indulge himself in this sudden strange spark that pulls him over the lines of his comfort zone, just a little.  Even if he just ends up getting a blowjob, he can call tonight a success.

“So,” Craig says when they’re in the elevator heading up to his apartment, “what are you into.”

“Oh boy, I like lotsa’ stuff,” is Butters’--yes, his name is fucking _Butters_ , or at least that’s what he likes to be called, it’s better than his real name anyway, which is Leopold, who the fuck names their child _Leopold_ \--response, cheerfully hooking an arm around one of Craig’s and reaching around with his other hand to pat his crotch.  Craig nudges his hand away, stomach churning a little.  He’s not much of an exhibitionist.

“Good to know.”  Craig’s silent the rest of the way, fumbling for his keys and unlocking the door.  He briefly considers being embarrassed about the nerdy memorabilia scattered in places around his apartment, even though the short ride here consisted mainly of Butters eagerly prattling on about his Tier-5 Holy Paladin in _World of Warcraft_.

“Oh, neato!” Butters chirps excitedly at a small arranged set of _Mass Effect_ limited-edition spaceships, having drifted over to get a closer look.  Craig, for whatever reason, feels his face grow a little warm.

“That’s all my ex’s stuff,” he lies blandly, grabbing Butters’ wrist and tugging him into the bedroom.  He unbuttons his shirt and slides it off, and Butters reaches to first undo the button of Craig’s pants before pausing, fidgeting with his hands a little.  His nails are well-trimmed but painted pink.

“Hey Craig?  I should probably warn ya.  I don’t like puttin’ things in my butt.”  This comes as a great surprise to Craig, who had already read him as the biggest nelly cliche he’d ever seen.

“Okay.”  He’s not really sure what to say to that, and attributes the following statement to the copious amount of vodka shots he’d knocked back that night: “Well, I do.”

“I got this condition, see,” Butters continues.  It might have killed the mood on a normal day, but now Craig’s thinking of Clyde again, and he suddenly feels a strange mixture of revulsion and raw, aching hunger.

“You don’t need to tell me,” he says, before Butters can go into any more detail.  “My ex doesn’t even have an asshole.”  He’s almost afraid that it will push Butters into asking for more information, which really _will_ kill the mood, but he just laughs instead, and pulls down Craig’s fly.

“You’re a funny guy, Craig.  I really like you!”

Butters actually isn’t a terrible top at all, which leads Craig to believe he’s done this before, possibly many times.  They strip down all the way with plenty of grinding and licking but without kissing each other on the mouth, and Craig rolls a condom over Butters’ dick, which is cute and pink like the rest of his sugary aesthetic.  It almost grosses Craig out, but he bends over the side of his bed instead and parts his thighs.

“Boy, your butt’s really hot, Craig,” says Butters breathlessly, and proceeds to pound the fuck out of him.

He comes first, lasting long enough for the fuck to be enjoyable but without the need to change positions.  Craig had expected his moans to be soft and disgustingly pretty, but instead Butters clutches tight at his hips and groans in a manly way.  It’s actually rather hot, and it startles an orgasm out of Craig, too, gushing over his bedclothes.

When they’re done Craig showers first, alone, then allows Butters to do the same while he changes his sheets.  He briefly considers throwing him out but the throb in his ass makes up for what he’d been missing during this little dry spell of his, barring the nasty encounter from earlier this week, and so he doesn’t protest when Butters pulls his briefs back on and snuggles up under the covers.

He’s gone in the morning when Craig wakes up, anyway.

 

* * *

 

“No,” Craig protests, feeling his voice wither away like a dead weed trapped in his throat.  “This can’t be happening.  We used a condom.  This seriously can’t be happening.”  His nipples are sore and in spite of his perfect figure, he’s growing soft little mosquito bites and his belly won’t stay flat no matter how hard he tries.  He also woke up this morning to find he’d leaked piss into the front of his boxers.  This is the worst day of his life.

“Well, believe it, because it’s happening.”  The nurse who had just revealed the results of Craig’s blood test reaches to pat him condescendingly on the arm.  “Congratulations, Mr. Tucker.  You are going to be a proud father.”

 _If it’s growing inside me_ , Craig can’t help but think to himself, _doesn’t that make me the mother?_ And with that thought, he proceeds to vomit up the contents of the quinoa salad he’d eaten that day.  Most of it ends up on the floor.  Some of it gets on the nurse’s shoes.  She is unfazed.

“We used a condom,” he whispers hoarsely, again, gazing stricken at her.

“Condoms aren’t 100% foolproof, I’m afraid.”  She’s writing something on her pad.  Craig doesn’t want to know what it is.  “There’s a very slim margin of error.  You became that margin.  Abstinence is the only guaranteed method to prevent disease and pregnancy.”

“I could have won the lottery.”  Craig presses his hands over his eyes.  “I could have been at the right place at the right time for something awesome.  But no.  This is how it ends.  This is the thing I get by chance.”  His guts twist uncomfortably, threatening to squeeze another round from his stomach.  Thankfully, it doesn’t happen.

“That’s why we keep our legs closed until marriage, honey.  Do you know who the father is?”

“Clyde and I barebacked all the time!” Craig cries suddenly, yanking at his shirt.  He is about to have a meltdown in front of this uptight old lady and he’s already humiliated, but he can’t stop it, like a volcano about to burst.  “Why not before. _Why not before._ ”  He knows the reason, of course, is because Clyde’s infertile thanks to losing one of his balls as a child and then getting a vasectomy when he grew older because _I don’t want my son to go through what I did_ , he’d sobbed through his tears.  Craig didn’t ask him, at the time, about the possibility of him fathering a girl, because he didn’t want to change his mind.

Now, though, he almost wishes he hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

This whole thing is like Cinderella, Craig realizes, shoving his way through the sweaty crowd.  It’s like Cinderella except instead of a foot you have some guy’s dick, and the shoe is his ass.

Of course this nasty little trick hadn’t left his phone number that morning.  Craig didn’t want it, not at the time, but now it would have solved so many problems.  Unfortunately, trying to find one specific sparkly blond twink in a gay club is like digging through a haystack.  Craig silently curses himself when he makes a break for the bar.  He should have gotten his number.  He should have taken a photo so he could ask around.  Even a selfie would have fucking sufficed.  Do one-night stands take selfies together?  Is that a thing?  He just doesn’t know.  He doesn’t know anything anymore.

He’s miserably staring into the neon green of his half-drank Appletini when there’s a tap on his shoulder.  “Craig!” the guy’s saying, and Craig realizes that he’s been calling his name a few times now.

“What,” he says flatly, turning his head.  Holy shit.  There he is.  Butters is wearing a lot less this time, dressed like a go-go boy with body glitter all over the fucking place, arms linked with some other blond douchebag Craig’s never spoken to before but he’s pretty sure he saw Clyde buy weed from him a couple times.

“It’s so nice to see ya!” Butters gushes happily.  “You look so good!  You’re glowing!”

“Who the fuck is this asshole,” his companion says, but he’s eying Craig up and down with blatant appreciation.

“I fucked him one time!” Butters replies happily, as if he were saying “it’s my neighbour” or “we had a class together”.  Craig is having none of this bullshit.

“I’m still standing here,” he shouts over the music, and because he needs to, or he’ll explode into an even bigger rage right here and now.  “You got me pregnant!  I’m fucking _pregnant_ because of you!”

“Huh!?”  Craig can’t tell if Butters is incredulous, or if he couldn’t hear him.  Fortunately, his friend or escort or fucktoy for the evening or whatever is there to clear things up.

“He said you knocked him up!” he says, turning his head so that he’s close to Butters’ ear, hand sweeping in an arc over his own belly for a clarifying visual.

“Aw jeez, Kenny!  I can’t be the daddy, we used a condom!”

“You owe me child support, you queef-sucking little bitch!” Craig yells, pointing his finger in Butters’ chest, fury rising in him after all.  His nostrils are flaring and he hopes he looks as bestial and terrifying as he fucking feels right now.  Kenny’s fingers immediately lock around his wrist, eyes flashing dangerously.

“ _Don’t_ touch him.”

“I’m real sorry, Craig!” Butters says to him, looking entirely unfazed by this turn of events on the surface, but Craig can see the nervousness in his eyes.  “But I can’t be your baby-daddy.  I’ll get grounded.”  It’s called over his shoulder, because they’re leaving, so abruptly that Craig barely has time to react.  He lunges after them.

“Get back here, you fucking assholes!” he shouts in vain.  “God damn it!  We’re not done talking!”  But the swish of glitter and white leather is the last thing he sees before Kenny pulls Butters away, both of them disappearing into the crowd.


End file.
